Little Sherlock's Back! Drabbles
by mewfrosting
Summary: Here are a few drabbles about Sherlock coming back. May be Johnlock if you look at it that way. If you find the MLP reference you get an award or whatever,
1. Chapter 1

_**Just a few different(ish) scenarios (yeah, I wouldn't say different, most of them begin the same way), a little post-fall drabble. Tell me if I should continue any of these, and I don't own anyone! **_

1.

"I'm-" John stopped himself as he stepped into 221B, remembering with gloomy eyes that Sherlock was dead. "…home." He continued, a bit softer. He sighed, going into the kitchen to put away the groceries. He no-longer had someone to complain to, no-one to call him an idiot….

Or a friend.

After he met Sherlock, his time was normally consumed with cases. Any friends he had before disappeared. The only few contacts he had left on his phone were Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft. Since Sherlock died, he'd had even less; everyone thought he was crazy.

"He's still alive, I can feel it!" he had said to Molly over the phone one night. Poor Molly agreed halfheartedly then said she had to get back to some work. At eleven o' clock in the evening? Now that Sherlock was gone, she wouldn't do that anymore.

But was he really gone?

"Need help?" Well, apparently not.

2.

John opened the creaky door to 221B to soothing violin music. "Home!" he called to Sherlock, resting his coat on the rack. "Want tea?"

"That'd be delightful," John heard a chuckle in his voice and turned to the living room where Sherlock sat.

"What?" he questioned, a bit annoyed. Sherlock rarely laughed, what could be so funny?

"Oh nothing. Earl Grey, if you don't mind."

"Oh- ok?" John strode into the kitchen, one eyebrow raised. Sherlock continued to chuckle in the other room, and John shook his head. "One day… You'll drive me up the wall…" he started the kettle and went to find the tea. "Umm, Sherlock, we're out of Earl Grey. Is English Breakfast all right?"

"Certainly, John."

John continued to make two cups of tea with a nod. Soon, he walked into the living room, (though it was difficult to live in, what with the books and case files scattered all over the place), gave Sherlock his tea and sat down in the couch opposite Sherlock.

"Now, Sherlock what're you laughing so much about?!" John knit his eyebrows in confusion. Sherlock just laughed louder, and harder. Soon he had grown past "chuckling" and was full-on laughing! "What is your problem!?" John threw his hands up, and soon his eyes widened.

"You see now?" Sherlock calmed a bit just to continue laughing.

"Oh..." John sat back in the couch, just to lean forward and start snickering along with Sherlock. "Can't wait to see the article on this!"

Soon, the two boys were in hysterics, as if they were just that- boys!

3.

"I'm bored!"

"Of course you're bored, you're dead!"

Sherlock stopped plucking the strings on his violin for a second. John had just opened the door to 221B, and Sherlock wasn't expecting an immediate- and clever- answer.

"That was… amusing." He chuckled, already looking back at a moment he would cherish for a lifetime.

"Oh quiet. If you weren't… well, half naked and playing the violin, I would slap you." John walked in, holding a couple bags of groceries.

"You moved the skull. Where'd it go?"

"On the desk."

"Why?" John stopped himself before answering.

"Oh c'mon Sherlock. Have you lost your touch over two months?"

"No. I just wanted to hear your voice."

Again, John stopped himself. He went back to the day Sherlock actually claimed John as a friend. _"I don't have friends… I have one" _

John shivered, and opened his mouth, "I-"

"Was getting lonely whilst browsing the internet? But looking for what, hmm?"

"Okay, now I'm going to hit you."

4.

I'M DRUNK

-SH

Oh God, you're alive and drunk. Great.

-JW

IS that SRACASM?

-SH

Yes, why?

-JW

OK. JAWN, Why do ew sign uor names? We have iPhones now, your name is right there^^^^^

-SH

Old habit, I guess.

Okay, so while most people call their ex-girlfriends while drunk, you decide to ponder normal things?

And turn off autocorrect?

-JW

Eeyup! ^w^

-SH

My god, Sherlock. I'm calling Mycroft.

-JW

nononONoNOoooo don't do daaaat! Htats meeean!

-Your Mum

Oh goodness. Yeah, I'm calling Mycroft.

-JW


	2. Chapter 2

_**God, inspiration hits at the best and the worst of times, doesn't it?**_

Sherlock bent over Molly, shaking her shoulders. "Stay with us, will you? It's the most you can do…"

Molly had been shot in the leg, making her collapse and hit her head. Sherlock had watched from afar for a few months now, but finally decided to step in when Molly was hurt. He let Mycroft's servant get the shooter, while Sherlock stayed with Molly. _Can't go to a hospital…_ he thought, already knowing who he had to go to, but not wanting to… well, he couldn't. He wanted to go to him with all his life, but he couldn't…

Now was an exception. He picked up Molly and ran.

It was late at night, and rain drizzled on the door of 221B Baker Street. John sat, sipping tea and thinking. It had been months since he'd thought this much. After he got over the whenever-I-think-of-him-I-cry state of missing Sherlock, he had gotten stuck in a pattern. This pattern consisted of waking up, getting ready for work, going to work, coming home, and sleeping. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Sherlock was dead, and though a glimmer of hope still insisted he was alive, deep in his gut, he ignored that and paid attention to the pattern instead.

Sherlock stood at the door, soaked and in a hurry—but he stopped. Knock? Barge in? He didn't have a key… so only one possibility. He knocked.

John came to the door and stood there for a second. Peeking through the hole, he realized that patterns were important.

Patterns meant something was wrong.

"Molly's more important than me right now. Let. Me. _In_."

_** Aaaaand that's it! Tell me if you want me to continue any of these stories or anything—I have a lot of stories right now, thank god this one isn't as important as a plot I have to remember—and I might!**_

_** ~Nyaa**_


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